One hand I had at the back of his head, holding his face carefully right down into a mass of his paperwork. I thought, laughingly, maybe he can do some reading while I get what I want here.
As I walked with determined steps toward his office, I thought nothing of what I was about to do.
It was purely animal.
I felt heat — right behind my eyes. My body felt like it wasn’t even my own anymore. The boots felt foreign.
Walking, with heavy steps, toward that door.
My bag over my shoulder. It didn’t matter anymore.
It had gotten to that point, where all reason vanishes, and all I can think about is scratching that itch.
And when he looked up at me, as I slammed open the office door, his eyes showed it all. All that I wanted to see — confusion. Startled. Half-thinking it was a pleasant visit.
Maybe to bring him cookies. Or a sandwich.
But I had no such things in my bag. Nothing.
The door slammed shut. I locked it.
“On the floor,” I said.
And he looked at me, sitting back in his chair, his arms out a little, one holding a pen, the other near his phone. In my state, I imagined he was about to make a reach for it — to grab it, to call security.
Mindless fantasies.
“On the floor. NOW.”
The floor wasn’t suitable. It was all animal now, everything I felt.
This feeling, when I get it, it is like not planning anything. Everything just happens. I am me, but I am watching from outside. I am observing how my passion takes over.
I grabbed him by the back of the neck and shoved him over his own desk. I kicked the chair out of the way and it rolled backward until it bumped into the wall.
I was holding his head down now, shoving it, by the neck, into a pile of papers. His breathing was now unsteady (god how I love that), his fingers outstretched a little. Confused. Not wanting to startle the beast.
Picking up his phone, I held it to his ear and pushed “O”. “Tell them you are in a meeting. Hold your calls.”
He stammered. I was holding the phone to his ear. I pushed down harder on his neck, lifting my knee between his legs, landing squarely, firmly into his groin.
A half gasp, and then he said, “Annie — ho — hold my calls. I have a — a —-“
I kneed him again.
“A — thing –.”
I hung up the phone.
“Oh, god..” he said.
“That’s GODDESS,” I snapped and started with his belt.
There was no time for gags, and I did not care. But I wanted to shut up his whimpering, or to turn it into muffled whimpers – depends on how you look at it. I grabbed a piece of paper from his deck and crumbled it into a ball right in front of him as I was pressed into his back, my arms before him.
He protested, reaching up, starting to speak, as if I had just crumbled up the first page of a contract, or a bid, or something of some major importance. I used it to gag him. Shoved it into his mouth to stop his protests, then pulled his head back to my chest and hissed into his ear from behind, “Don’t make me force you to EAT it, you whore.”
And that, fortunately, silenced him for a bit.
His trousers fell around his ankles. My hands moved at once to the garters on his thighs. I breathed in, entranced, for the moment, with his thighs. His ass, in the thong panties I made him wear. The thigh-high stockings. How pathetic he now looked, how so un-business-like, standing with trousers around his ankles, panties and garters on.
He was whimpering, beautifully, from behind the crumbled paper.
I swung my long hair around my neck and tied it up with a rubber band I found on his desk. Unzipped my bag. Felt for leather straps.
“You stay put,” I said.
Buckles. Jingling of metal against metal. His breathing. People walking past the door that was locked, shut before us. Phones ringing outside. The snapping of medical latex gloves. More whimpering. Shhhhhh.
This time, the cock was mine.
One hand I had at the back of his head, holding his face carefully right down into a mass of his paperwork. I thought, laughingly, maybe he can do some reading while I get what I want here.
My cock. Latex, 8 inches. Strapped on securely, pushing into my crotch how I like it, meeting with the resistance of his newly lubricated asshole.
Spreading his ass cheeks.
His head turned back and forth. Back and forth. Whimpering. Papers flying off the desk, sailing to the floor.
“Shut up,” I said. Pushing. With my hips, little thrusts to open him.
I was watching the clock on the wall. Like a bank robbery, I had planned it. Fifteen minutes, in and out.
In. I pushed,
He gasped.
Out.
His fingers, spread out over the desk, gripping the ends of the table.
He was spread out, his trousers down around his ankles. Panties at his thighs. Still in thigh highs, garters.
Holding the edges of his desk.
Gagged with his own memo, probably.
As I held him by the head, pulling him by the hair back toward me, thrusting my hips at him to take him all the way, I imagined this was the perfect portrait of the ultimate businessman.
And I fucked him.
Sweating. I was sweating, bent over him, caught in the motion. The in, the out, the steady fucking. Feeling my cock, I could feel it, moving in and out of his ass.
His whimpers steadied to gasps, he held tight onto the desk, which now rocked with every thrust.
I heard voices outside the door. “…oh, he’s in a meeting….I…I don’t know…a few more minutes maybe??”
I heard him whimper as he recognized the voices too.
I quickened my pace. Reached under, after slowly peeling the latex glove off with my teeth and licking, sucking my index finger.
Just one finger.
Inside me, I gasped.
Pumping more, I heard him whimper, this time more desperate.
My eyes were shut tight. “Almost…there.” I hissed.
And he was choking back sobs, choking back, probably, ink from the memo in his mouth. Or contract. Or whatever it was.
One hand massaging my pussy, feeling my cock slide in and out of his ass above it, the other hand feeling the tops of the stockings on his thighs. Touching the garters. Feeling the panties around his legs.
Then it happened.
In just three.
Violent.
Thrusts.
And I could have sworn, I heard the office noises subside briefly as if everyone wondered what they heard.
Was it me — my muffled gasp as I came.
Or was it him, whimpering, whimpering what I could have sworn was a desperate “nooo….” when my thrusts became deeper and more relentless.
Putting my things away, I watched him pull up his trousers, gingerly, around thighs which glistened with sweat, his ass still coated with lubricant.
Strangely, it was still not enough.
An appetizer. Maybe.
“Come home early tonight,” I said. “I want to finish where I left off.”
